


Of Outside Perspectives, Rumors, and Claims

by TheReluctantShipper



Series: Pet Wizard [7]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Harry Somehow Behaving and Being a Shit at the Same Time, M/M, POV Multiple, The Unseelie Accords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23246329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: I accompany Marcone to his first Accords meeting as the Baron.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Series: Pet Wizard [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1308146
Comments: 47
Kudos: 340





	Of Outside Perspectives, Rumors, and Claims

**Author's Note:**

> \- This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I don't own anything but the original characters. I don't claim ownership over the characters or storyline of the The Dresden Files, no matter how grateful I am for them, which is hella.
> 
> \- Thanks to the Sister Husbands, who are my best friends in the whole world, and happen to be gracious enough to also beta most of my works for me. I don't know what I'd do without you girls, but I certainly wouldn't be doing this.
> 
> You can come see me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thereluctantshipper) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/TheReluctantSh1?s=09) if me sharing fan edits and bitching about writer's block floats your boat.
> 
> \- I come by any mistakes here honestly, but feel free to point them out so I can correct them.
> 
> \- Be honest, now, this time y'all really thought I was dead.
> 
> \- Feedback is life.

I have found since I began to gather the signatures I needed to become a Signatory of the Accords that those in the supernatural community are remarkably like vanilla humans. If someone _wants_ something, they are manageable. Not necessarily easily, nor always predictably so, but they _are_ manageable.

Supernatural beings like to believe that they are above this principle, dismiss it as a petty mortal weakness.

However, they, too, want something. Always, without fail, _everyone_ does. I just happen to be in an excellent position and possess the experience necessary to get things. 

It was not a simple thing, getting these signatures. It was complex, time-consuming, expensive, and oftentimes quite dangerous, but above all, it was _worth it._

When the first Accords meeting that I was to be a part of was scheduled, Harry and I made a plan the very night we received the news. I knew he would be nervous about the White Council being there, but I had already considered it extensively. 

I knew precisely how to handle them, because at the end of the day, magical powers or no, they were still people. And people, as Harry so often told me, were easy.

* * *

We made quite the entrance.

The meeting was held in a dilapidated warehouse, of all things. I assumed, and Harry confirmed, that the location was chosen primarily due to its lack of electronics, metals offensive to various beings present, and its remoteness. While vanilla mortals were quite easily fooled, it was still easier to avoid them.

Nathan drove us to the front door with a silence much stonier than usual. He was quite irate that I was only taking Harry with me into the meeting. He understood the politics behind it, possibly even better than I did, but he certainly didn’t like it. While he wasn’t normally verbose unless we were discussing his thesis, his tight-lipped frown was making his feelings quite clear.

I didn’t have the chance to comfort him. Any hesitation, no matter the reason, would be seen as a weakness, and I would not appear weak here. It would not only put my own person in danger, but it would put anyone deemed to be under my protection at risk as well.

When the car stopped at the entrance, I waited precisely two seconds before I opened the car door. I stepped out and stepped aside for Harry to follow me.

We had a bit of an argument over what Harry would wear to the meeting. I suspected that it was more for show, however. Harry had a pathological need to argue with telling him what to do, and it took me quite a while to convince him that I knew best.

And, oh, _did_ I.

Harry was, in my opinion, rather delectable as he smoothly stepped out of the car (While his movement in private, with just myself, was often ungainly and a bit clumsy, when we were in public the results of his dance lessons shone through). His hair was artfully tousled (another battle almost lost), and he wore a simple black button-up shirt with black trousers and dress shoes. Over all of it, a snub to the muggy Chicago afternoon, was his black leather duster.

Several people (creatures?) milling around the entrance did a double-take as we walked in, and the possessive beast that lives in my chest purred to life with satisfaction at the sight. It mattered little whether it was because of the way Harry was dressed, who Harry was, or the aura of power a wizard as powerful as Harry was emanating. In all arenas, Harry Dresden was _mine._

It was one of many lessons I intended to teach the other Signatories that day.

* * *

I, Alice White, want to be honest with you. Being an apprentice to a wizard of the White Council sucked, often and hard. It was a lot of really difficult work for what usually appeared to be very little payoff. Wizards tended to treat you like paid labor (I am _not_ getting paid for this gig) and anyone else treated you like a pet who needed to find its way back to its master. So, yeah. Being an apprentice sucks, often and hard.

Sometimes, though, you get to go to an Accords meeting and see _Harry fucking Dresden._

Okay, so Harry’s _kind_ of a legend for apprentices like me. I mean, come on, the guy is _cool._ He foiled a plot, an _evil murder plot,_ put in place by his adopted father-slash-teacher _Justin freakin’ DuMorne,_ one of the most powerful wizards on the White Council. Then, _then,_ while said White Council is trying to figure out what to do with this kid, he _straight up disappears._ Gone for years with no trace at all and no way to put a tracking spell on him. Years later, he’s in Chicago all of the sudden, but he’s flying under the radar, making no waves, and the Council has more pressing problems, anyway.

And then, _bam!_ Harry Dresden, who’s not even _close_ to being a fully trained wizard (as far as the Council is concerned, anyway) goes toe-to-toe with that loon Victor Sells, and somehow _gets out alive._

So, the guy already has the reputation of this badass, rogue, unkillable type. And who does he show up with?

_Johnny frickin’ Marcone._

I was working very hard to keep my cool. Dresden and Marcone walked in like they owned the place, pointedly not even glancing around at anyone as they made their way to the huge conference table that had been placed at the center of the warehouse.

The lack of eye contact wouldn’t have been worth notice if it were just Dresden, it’s not like wizards were prone to a lot of it, anyway. Marcoe, though, was quite obviously sending a message. A dismissive, unimpressed message that was going to piss a _lot_ of beings off.

 _So cool._ I snuck a glance to Alana, the White Council wizard who was my mentor. She was a short, stocky woman with light, delicate coloring. Her usually kind face was unsuited to the scowl marring her features just then.

“Dresden,” she growled, “what is _he_ doing here?”

She didn’t actually want an answer, so I kept my mouth shut. Besides, she knew as well as I did what he was here for. Or, more accurately, _who_ he was here for.

The Council definitely didn’t think Dresden was cool. Charitably, the only way to describe their thoughts on Dresden was “out of control, possibly evil slut.”

Oh, yeah, the whole supernatural community knew that Dresden was in bed with Marcone, both professionally and personally, and everyone had an opinion about it. Essentially, that Dresden was a sellout, trading his magical talent for power, money, sex, or whatever else Marcone had to offer. In the mind of the Council, especially, he was spitting on everything they stood for, every precaution they took to hide.

“Avoid him at all costs, child,” Alana said solemnly. “A bad egg, that one.”

I thought of Victor Sells, though. Maybe he went after the guy for Marcone, but the ThreeEye was also gearing up to be a big problem before Dresden interfered. It was hurting a lot of people, and it would have hurt a lot more if he hadn’t stepped in when he did.

Maybe Dresden was a sellout and maybe not, but I was sure that this Accords meeting was going to be _crazy._

* * *

I was wrong, and I was right.

The Accords meeting was as fraught as it always was, for the reasons it always was. The vampires were pushing boundaries, both in territory and with their behavior, and the White Council had to put them back in their place. The Faerie Queens only acknowledged anyone when they weren’t verbally sparring with one another, not that anyone wanted to get in there, anyway. Deals were struck, disputes resolved, business addressed.

Through it all, a blanket of wary tension rested over the entire affair. A blanket named Gentleman Johnny Marcone and Harry Dresden.

Marcone didn’t bring any complaints of his own, or orders of business. It was unusual to attend the meeting if you didn’t have some pressing matter to discuss, but not unheard of. He just sat in his chair, listened carefully to everything, and took notes. Extensive notes, sure, but nothing to make anyone nervous.

No, what was making everyone nervous was Dresden.

All he did was _stand_ there behind Marcone, arms crossed, body relaxed. He didn’t fidget or shift his weight, or really react at all to anything being discussed. 

Oh, and he exuded some _serious_ magical power.

It was like nothing I’d ever felt from one person alone, outside of the members of the Senior Council. From three seats down, where I was sitting next to Alana in her place as a representative of the White council, it made the little hairs on my arms stand up.

It wasn’t just the level of power Dresden was pumping out, either. His stillness would have been unnerving no matter who it was from, but it was in direct opposition to every rumor about the man. They painted him as barely more than a kid. A kid who packed a punch, sure, a kid who outsmarted DuMorne, but a kid nonetheless. Lacking in discipline, in control, a ruffled, lost puppy who was more likely to growl than wag its tail.

Instead, here stood a man who not only oozed power, but who was clearly the master of that power. He was dressed well, but in an understated way. He wasn’t a hothead, he was as serene as a still pond during the whole meeting. He was _nothing_ like any of us thought he would be. It was driving us all a little batty.

There were two notable exceptions.

Marcone’s pen ran out of ink halfway through the meeting. When it stopped working, he frowned down at it for a moment, but he never actually said a word. He never _had_ to.

The moment he laid the defunct pen on the table, Dresden had already taken a step forward and produced a pen from the inside pocket of his duster. He held it in Marcone’s eyesight, low enough to not be right in his face. He never took his eyes off of Lord Raith, who was speaking at the time, and neither did Marcone. The mob boss simply took the pen, discreetly uncapped it, and continued writing his notes.

The synchronicity, the smooth movements, the silent communication, the clear trust, and the conscientious behavior. It all took everyone by surprise, although we all made an effort to hide that. It flew in the face of everything we believed about Dresden and how he reacted to authority. Marcone didn’t even _thank_ him, and Dresden didn’t so much as twitch.

Later, Alana would assure me that the whole bit was planned. I would never be sure if I believed that, but it let quite the impression either way.

The other exception to his iron-clad control on his behavior was less public, but more profound. For me, anyway.

As things were wrapping up, Alana stopped to have a talk with someone from Faerie. I stayed just to the left and one step behind her like I was taught. I tried not to fidget or whine, but it had been a long, boring day and I was pooped.

I must not have hidden that very well, because as Marcone and Dresden passed us to leave (they had stopped to have a brief discussion with Lord Raith, but that was apparently over), the latter caught my eye.

He smirked as they passed, almost close enough to brush my shoulder with his (or, more accurately, with his _elbow,_ the dude was _huge)._

“Hang in there, kiddo,” he murmured, low enough that my ears alone would hear. “Love the hair.”

He winked, then he was gone.

It was an effort not to touch my new pixie cut, dyed an absolutely eye-searing shade of orange. It was very new, the only way I could feel like I was sort of in control of myself while I was an apprentice. Alana had given me the side-eye over it, but had let it slide without comment.

Harry Dresden had no way of knowing how new my hairstyle was. He had no way of knowing how self-conscious I was about it. He did probably know a bit about how stifling it was to be an apprentice, but he couldn’t have known how _nice_ it was to have my little act of rebellion validated in that way.

As I watched him amiably follow Marcone out of the warehouse, heard Marcone say, “Come along, Harry,” in a voice somehow warm and brisk at the same time, I thought.

I thought that, really, if it ever came down to Harry Dresden or the White Council, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure which side I’d land on anymore.

* * *

I managed to keep my hands to myself and my eyes up on Marcone’s shoulders instead of down on his ass on the way out of the Accords meeting. It was a struggle, but I’d faced that particular struggle more than once. I’d make it through somehow.

The cute girl in apprentice robes helped (and, to be clear, I mean cute like a puppy, or a baby monkey, not cute like attractive). I’d always appreciated White Council members, even hopefuls, who had less of a stick up their asses, and I _did_ like their orange hair.

As soon as we were in the car, though, my mind swivelled right back into the gutter. I used the pen Marcone had returned to me to hit the button for the divider to go up between Cujo and us. Once it was up, all bets were off.

John had an amused eyebrow cocked at me, but didn’t protest when I swung a leg over and straddled him.

“Is there something I can do for you, Harry? Or, perhaps, something that has gotten you worked up?”

There were a lot of things I could have said just then, and they were all true.

John was hot when he was being the Baron, all imperious and demanding and aloof. It was hot when he was putting on his attentive but unconcerned air for competitors of ay type, especially since I knew what a sharp steel trap his mind really was.

Mostly, though, being so blatantly and publicly claimed, even if he never expressly said it, was driving me _wild._

At the end of the day, not a lot of people have waited to claim me. For a night of fun, maybe. For my magic, sure. To piss somebody else off, even. But when push has ever come to shove, and it somehow always did, staying by my side was never been an option any of them ever entertained. I’ve always stood on my own, muddling through life alone.

Marcone didn’t want any of that stuff, though, or at least not anymore. However this thing between us had started, he’d made it very clear that his claim was on _me._ Not just my magic or my body, he wanted everything, and he was willing to put in the time and the work. And, maybe even more importantly, he didn’t give a damn who knew it.

That was a lot to put out there, though, and might delay getting his dick in my mouth. So instead, I shrugged a little as I removed my duster.

“It’s a power thing, John. It’s hot.”

His green eyes were alight with humor and wickedness, even as they widened innocently.

“You know,” he said like butter wouldn’t melt in that sinful mouth, like his hand wasn’t already gripping my ass hard enough to leave bruises, “I have an _incredible_ amount of power.”

I snorted and leaned down to kiss the smug look off of his smug, ridiculously handsome face.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Sorry about the lack of direct interaction between our boys this time. I really wanted to showcase the differences in this Dresden from canon!Dresden again, and an outside perspective on Dresden and Marcone.


End file.
